


The Rebellion of GL-0541

by greenteafiend



Category: Promare (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Space, M/M, Meet-Cute, Space Opera, rebel!lio, starwars AU, stormtroooper!galo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-17
Updated: 2020-09-17
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26493124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greenteafiend/pseuds/greenteafiend
Summary: A long time ago, GL-0541 was plucked up as a young orphan from some tiny backwater planet, and placed in stormtrooper training by Kray Foresight himself.Now that he's grown, it's time to put the Empire's teachings into practice. So far it has been a bleak, violent, and franklyterribleexistence, with an uncomfortably high death-rate.When noted rebel fighter pilot Lio Fotia is taken captive, GL-0541 makes a choice that changes everything.
Relationships: Lio Fotia/Galo Thymos
Comments: 10
Kudos: 54





	The Rebellion of GL-0541

GL-0541 has the highest number of reconditioning attempts on record. It is a dubious honor.

Technically and physically, he is a perfect stormtrooper. Ninety-ninth percentile for strength, agility, reflexes, hand-to-hand combat, aim. He can pilot any Order-standard cruiser, he can disassemble and reassemble every model of Order blaster, even the discontinued variations. Of all the members of his unit, he is the least augmented, naturally tall and broad through the shoulders. He fills out the uniform well, and cuts an imposing figure, as he is meant to. As the First Order intends him to.  __

_ Mentally  _ however…

“ _ GL-0541! _ ” Commander VL-8922 barks, “check the dwellings in the southern quadrant for insurgents.” 

“They’re only children,” the captured leader growls, struggling against his restraints so hard that GLO541 worries he might dislocate his shoulders.

This is _ exactly _ the type of thinking that has landed him in reconditioning time and again. His body is strong, but his mind has always been weak. Stupid. He feels sympathy, when he’s supposed to feel disgust. 

“Shut your mouth, Fotia.” The statement is accompanied by a backhand to the face that has the rebel leader— _Fotia—_ spitting out blood. The sound of it makes GL-0541 wince, and he is glad no one can see his face under his helmet.

Despite being at their mercy, Fotia glares defiantly up at VL-8922. It’s a look so murderous it sends a shiver down GLO541’s spine.

VL-8922 turns towards him. “GLO541, why are you still here?” he snarls. 

“Sorry sir, yessir!” GL-0541 says with a hasty salute, turning on his heel to head where he is meant to.

This is his second real mission as a stormtrooper after all the delays and setbacks caused by his little mental problem. His first had gone terribly because he’d prioritised an injured comrade’s life over their actual objective. It had been PZ-7665’s first mission too, and GL-0541 had noticed his hands shaking where they had gripped his blaster. He’d been so nervous he’d stumbled and triggered a rebel trap.

_ “W-will I die?”  _ he’d whimpered, as he bled and bled, staining the white of their armor as GL-0541 had desperately tried to stem the flow. 

_ “You’ll be fine,”  _ Galo had vowed, and then he’d carried PZ-7665 back to base for medical attention, abandoning their objective, and failing the mission.

That was the moment GL-0541 knew—he is a failure. 

Emperor Kray Foresight himself discovered GL-0541, and recruited him as a child when he had no one. He gave GL-0541 shelter and education; assigned him his identity code. The Emperor gave him purpose. Still, GL-0541 somehow knows that it would have been worse than failing the Emperor if he’d allowed PZ-7665 to die. 

The First Orders asks its Stormtroopers to kill for them, to put the interests of the empire above the sanctity of life. It was fine when it was all theoretical, all training with guns set to stun. But now... 

_ Pull yourself together,  _ GL-0541 thinks to himself. 

He arrives in his designated quadrant and begins his sweep of the area. The first few dwellings he checks are empty. The fourth one isn’t; Fotia had been telling the truth. 

There are children. Children with thin wrists and huge eyes, wearing nothing more than dirty rags. They cling to each other. The largest child is maybe half GL-0541’s height, and stands in front of the others, arms outstretched protectively even though their knees are shaking and tears drip down their cheeks. The smallest of the group is in the arms of another child that would barely reach GL-0541’s hip. 

“ _ Status report, _ ” Commander VL-8922 shouts through the comms. 

“ _ Eastern quadrant is secure,”  _ replies in one of GL-0541’s comrades. 

“ _ Currently securing Western quadrant,”  _ says another, and GL-0541 can hear the sound of blasters firing in the background. He hears screams _.  _

“ _ GL-0541, status report.”  _

GL-0541 can’t raise his blaster. Some of the children are younger than GL-0541 ever remembers being. He’s been taught all his life that the might of the First Order is right, but he's never liked hurting people, and he’s discovering too late that he can’t even manage it when the First Order deems them deserving of it. 

_ What could these children have done?  _ Whispers a voice in GL-0541’s head. It’s a dissident voice that he has heard countless times—it’s the voice the reconditioning is supposed to suppress—but it’s never been this loud before.

“ _ GL-0541, you useless maggot! Give me my status report!”  _ thunders Commander VL-8922.

“Southern quadrant is secure,” he says. His hand shakes as he raises it and lifts one finger to his lips, before he leaves. 

* * *

  
  


“GL-0541, bring him,” Commander VL-8922 orders, kicking Fotia’s unconscious body disdainfully as he passes it on the way to their cruiser. GL-0541 isn’t surprised that Fotia has been knocked out in his absence; commander VL-8922 is never gentle with captives. GL-0541 notices a new bruise starting to purple on Lio’s cheek, and wonders how many more he can’t see under his clothes.

Before, Fotia had seemed fearsome. With his expression lax and his body still and unprotected, GL-0541 can see that he’s just a young man. Mabe even younger than GL-0541 himself. GL-0541 lifts him carefully, conscious of the fact that his hands are bound together behind his back.

He’s too easy to lift, in a way that makes GL-0541 think of the spareness of the childrens’ wrists, and the hollowness of their cheeks. It is well known in the First Order that the resistance is running on fumes, and for the first time, GL-0541 finds it upsetting. 

If they’d just stop fighting and join the First Order, then things would be better for them. That had been his main takeaway from his most recent stint of reconditioning; common people couldn’t be trusted to govern themselves, they needed the guidance of their betters. 

Despite repeating that catechism over and over and _over,_ until it feels like it is etched on the inside of his skull, it still sits uncomfortably. 

* * *

“We’re bringing him back for questioning,” Commander VL-8922 says into the comms from their transport cruiser. 

There is a pause. GL-0541 keeps his posture loose so it isn’t obvious he’s listening in. 

“Either some got away, or our intel was inaccurate,” Commander VL-8922 says. “We’ll finish decontaminating the area once the scouting droids have collected the intel you requested.” 

GL-0541 is thankful for his helmet once more, because although he has no idea what his face is doing, he knows it would earn him more reconditioning. 

“ GL-0541, Emperor Foresight wishes to question the prisoner immediately. Take him to holding cell 648, and await further instructions,” Commander VL-8922 barks when they land. 

“Yes, sir,” GL-0541 replies.

* * *

Holding cell 648 has a chair at its centre. It has dozens of strap attachments so that the interrogated prisoners can’t squirm too much as they’re persuaded to give up information. GL-0541 takes one look at it, and spins on his heel to walk in the opposite direction. If he puts this man in that chair, there’s no telling if he’ll be in any conditions to leave it  _ ever _ . 

The realisation comes on slow. When it hits him, it feels like the whole world has dropped away under his feet, but it’s a relief—he wants to fall. 

He has to leave.  __

That is the moment the prisoner wakes in his arms, forcing GL-0541’s attention away from his thoughts. Every trace of unconscious vulnerability—the long lashes brushing the tops of his cheeks, the softness of his lax mouth, the drape of his thin limbs—disappears in an instant. He  _ bucks,  _ so hard and so violently that GL-0541 drops him. 

He lands with a thud in a messy sprawl of limbs, and wastes no time in gathering himself and lurching to his feet. It’s impressive how quickly he moves given that his hands are still tied. 

GL-0541’s surprise buys Fotia two steps down the corridor, but then GL-0541 catches him around the waist with one arm and lifts him clear off his feet. It’s easy because Fotia is so small. 

“Let me  _ go,”  _ Fotia growls. 

GL-0541 does not let go. He hauls Fotia over to the nearest service cupboard, and walks both of them inside. It’s a very tight fit that forces them to be pressed up against one another, but it beats GL-0541’s tratorious words being overheard. Fotia has to crane his neck to glare up at GL-0541’s helmet. The top of his head barely clears GL-0541’s shoulders. In the dimness of the cupboard, his eyes glow lilac with defiance, and the pale green-white of his hair glimmers like starlight. It’s interesting that this angry person with such presence is so physically small and coloured in such soft pastel shades.

“We’re gonna leave,” GL-0541 blurts.

Fotia blinks. His eyelashes are so long... “You want to help me?” he says carefully.

“I do!” GL-0541 confirms. If there were more space he would have thumped himself on the chest to punctuate the statement, but as it is they are already pressed chest to chest so he restrains himself. 

“Are you a spy with the Resistance?” Fotia asks. 

“No.” 

“You’re a stormtrooper,” Fotia says, posture stiffening, eyes going hard.

GL-0541 thinks that’s pretty obvious just from looking at him—the armor should give it away—but he answers anyways. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“Tell me, _ stormtrooper _ , how many innocent people have you murdered?” Fotia asks, chin tilted up defiantly. His gaze burns. 

“I’ve never killed anybody!” GL-0541 answers. When Fotia continues to glare at him, GL-0541 continues, “ _ Honest! _ Today was only my second mission ever.” 

“And now you’ve decided to defect?” Fotia’s stare cools, but he still looks suspicious. 

“I don’t know, I haven’t gotten that far yet. I’ve  _ definitely _ decided I don’t wanna kill people.”

GL-0541 picks Fotia up under the armpits and maneuvers him around so they’re face to back—not an easy feat with the limited space they have, and Fotia squirming uncooperatively in his grip. Fotia lets out a soft  _ “oof,” _ when his front mashes against the wall. 

“What are you doing?” he demands. 

“Sorry—just unlocking your cuffs,” GL-0541 explains, reaching down to mess with the mechanism. There’s a hiss and then a click when GL-0541 puts in the code, and the cuffs beep then loosen.

“Okay, you can take them off now.”

When GL-0541 goes to pick Fotia up to turn him around, Fotia gives him a sharp look over his shoulder, and a bony elbow in the stomach. 

“I can do it myself.” 

“Sure,” says GL-0541, lifting his hands in surrender while Fotia wriggles around so they’re face to face again 

He stares up at GL-0541 with a tiny frown. 

“Um… so are you gonna take the cuffs off, or what?” GL-0541 prompts. 

Fotia slips his hands free, and brings his arms in front of himself with a sigh of released tension. 

“Thank you,” he says gruffly, rolling his shoulders and massaging one wrist with his other hand in the small space between their bodies. 

“Sorry, that can’t have been comfortable,” says GL-0541, reaching out to capture one wrist in his hands. He can feel the bone through the skin, delicate like a bird’s. GL-0541 is careful as he massages circulation back into it. He feels Fotia’s pulse directly through his skin and it is confronting to perceive something so vulnerable in another person. 

“Alright,” GL-0541 begins, “We need to get those kids off the planet before decontamination begins. I say we head to the hanger, commandeer one of the transporters, head planet-side to pick up your kids, then high-tail it out of there somewhere far enough away the First Order won’t find you. What do you say?” 

GL-0541 is momentarily distracted by the lacey cuff of Fotia’s shirt. The fabric is white, it’s texture coarse. GL-0541 hasn’t ever seen anyone wearing clothing made of anything like it; it’s nothing like the smooth, skin-tight synthetics the First Order favors under their armor. Impulse has him pinching it between his thumb and forefinger just to feel the layers rubbing together. He wishes he wasn’t wearing gloves so he could touch it properly— 

Fotia clears his throat, and GL-0541 snaps back to himself.

“Sorry, here— ” The prisoner let’s GL-0541 take his other hand to give it the same treatment. 

“You say sorry an awful lot for a stormtrooper,” Fotia remarks.

GL-0541 looks up from the delicate wrist he is rubbing carefully with his thumbs and tilts his head to the side, questioning.

“Do I?” 

“You’re tactile too,” Fotia continues, flexing the hand in GL-0541’s grip pointedly. “Or are all of you so nonchalant about touching?” 

GL-0541 winces and let’s go of the prisoner's wrist; that’s another one of his short-comings as a stormtrooper, in addition to everything else that’s wrong with him. He’s always been clingy, always overly eager to touch others and be held. All those sorts of things are not expressly forbidden, but they _ are  _ frowned upon. GL-0541 has gotten pretty good at limiting himself to hugging his pillow at night, but he still slips up sometimes. 

“It isn’t a bad thing,” Fotia says, giving GL-0541’s hand a quick squeeze. He lets go before GL-0541 can squeeze back. “And I say yes to your plan,” he adds, with a smile. It’s small, but genuine. 

Fotia can’t see it, but GL-0541 smiles back. It might be the first smile GL-0541 has ever given anyone, and he can’t even see it. GL-0541 resolves that he’ll try it again once they get off this destroyer and find somewhere else. 

“Follow my lead,” he says. 

* * *

  
  


They make it to the hangar with GL-0541’s blaster pressed between Fotia's shoulder blades. Fotia keeps his hands behind him as they walk across the bay.

“A Xi-class shuttle would fit everyone,” GL-0541 whispers, nodding to where a specimen of the ship in question is parked.

“Are you proposing we take it?” whispers the Fotia. GL-0541 frowns, thinking hard.

“It doesn’t have the armour or weaponry we’d need to escape when they realise we’ve stolen it. We’d get taken out by one of the ion cannons  _ easy _ . A TIE fighter would be better for maneuverability and firepower, but that’ll only fit us two.”

“I propose we take both.”

“You wanna steal not one, but  _ two  _ ships from the First Order?” says GL-0541, nearly tripping over his own feet at the sheer audacity. “You know I can only pilot one ship at a time, right?” 

“I’m not asking you to pilot two ships at once. I’m suggesting we pilot one  _ each.”  _

“Oh…” It makes sense; one of them piloting the shuttle to pick up the others, one of them on defense in the TIE fighter. 

“We have to be bold if we want to escape,” says Fotia as if he senses GL-0541 reservations. “We won’t succeed unless we give it our all.” 

Fotia’s words awaken something in GL-0541; a  _ resolve  _ that he’s never had to call on before.  __

“Okay, let’s do this,” he says, determined. “Can you pilot the shuttle?”

The edge of a smirk curves the corner of Fotia’s mouth, and it makes GL-0541’s heart give an extra hard thud. “I can pilot anything.”

* * *

  
  


“Hey, guys. How’s it going?” 

The crew of the Xi-class shuttle turn from their various maintenance tasks to look at GL-0541. Fotia is hiding behind a corner of the ship just outside. 

“GL-0541? Weren’t you on the mission to Jakku?” 

“Yeah, but it’s finished now. Commander VL-8922’s personal transport was damaged and he’d like a team to see to it straight away. You’re to head to the starboard hangar.”

This order isn’t strictly true, but the transport _had_ sustained some damage when they entered Jakku’s atmosphere, and Commander VL-8922 _did_ have a reputation for prioritising engineering teams’ tasks to suit himself. 

When this team logged the order and carried out repairs, no questions would be asked of them. 

The crew exchange glances with each other. One of them checks the timepiece on her vambrace, while another simply shrugs. 

“C’mon ladies, we better go. We all know how Commander VL-8922 gets,” says the shrugger. Every crew member lets out a put-upon sigh.

“See you round, GL-0541.” 

With a chorus of goodbyes, the crew troupes out of the shuttle, leaving GL-0541 alone. 

Once the sound of their footsteps has faded, GL-0541 whispers  _ “The coast is clear!”  _ and Fotia’s head pops into view, framed by the entryway. 

“I can’t believe that worked,” he says, delicately flipping his hair out of his face. 

“Have some faith, I’m gonna get us out of here,” GL-0541 proclaims, thumping himself on the chest—there’s enough space here. It makes a hard _ thwack _ against his armor. 

“You were awfully friendly with them,” says Fotia with a strange edge in his voice. 

“Why wouldn’t I be? They’re nice.”

Fotia gives GL-0541 a look he can’t read, before making for the pilot seat. He slides into it like he owns it, and begins pressing buttons for the pre-flight check. 

“I can take it from here if you’ve changed your mind,” he says quietly. 

“I haven’t changed my mind! I said I’d help you, and I’m not finished yet.” 

GL-0541 approaches the pilot seat and crouches beside it so their eyes are level. He points a stern finger in Fotia’s face, which earns him a raised eyebrow. “ _ Don’t  _ leave without me, you won’t make it back to Jakku without backup.”

Fotia stares at him for a beat

“Tell me your name,” he says finally.

“GL-0541.” 

Fotia wrinkles his nose as if GL-0541 has just informed him he’ll be on waste duty indefinitely. 

_ “GL-0541?”  _ he repeats incredulously. “I am _ not  _ going to call you that.” 

“Why not?” GL-0541 asks. 

“Come here—” says Fotia, gesturing for GL-0541 to draw nearer with an impatient, beckoning finger. 

Bemused but willing to go along with it, GL-0541 leans in. Fotia’s hands grip GL-0541’s helmet on either side of his head, and he only has time to say “what are you—” before there is a sudden release of pressure and his helmet is off. He blinks in confusion as the skin of his face cools in the controlled, temperate air of the shuttle. It feels strange to be showing so much skin. 

“You took my helmet off,” he says dumbly.

“I wanted to see your face,” Fotia answers, setting the helmet down on the dash without looking away from GL-0541. “You’re a person _ ,  _ not a thing. People have names, not codes. People are free.”

“What’s your name?” GL-0541 asks.

“Lio,” he says.

“Lio,” GL-0541 repeats. It’s strange; GL-0541 isn’t even touching Lio right now, but he’s never felt closer to another person.  _ Lio,  _ he thinks. 

_ Lio Fotia.  _

“Do you remember the name your parents gave you?” Lio asks. 

GL-0541 doesn’t remember anything about his parents, let alone what name they might have given him. He shakes his head. “I was really little when I got my code, it’s all I’ve ever known,” he explains. 

His words make Lio’s face twist into a mixture of anger and upset. GL-0541 doesn’t like it so he finds himself saying, “Why don’t you give me a name?” 

Lio blinks in surprise, “Excuse me?” he says. 

GL-0541, warming up to the idea, excitedly clasps one of Lio’s hands in his. “You can give me a name! You’re the one who said people have names; you gotta take responsibility.” 

Lio bites his lip, and stares into GL-0541’s face searchingly. 

“GL-0541…” he says softly. “Gl-0…” Lio purses his lips. “Galo,” he declares. 

“Galo...” says GL-0541— _ Galo _ . Lio is right. GL-0541 is a stormtrooper, but Galo could be a person. 

“Can I call you that?” asks Lio.

“Yes!” Galo beams, happy to give Lio his first smile as a person with a name. “Do I get another one too? You’ve got two, right? _Lio_ _Fotia._ ” 

“The second one is a family name,” Lio explains.

“Hm, I haven’t got any family... could I share yours?” 

Lio blinks again, and for some inexplicable reason his cheeks tint pink

“What is it?” Galo gives Lio’s hand—he’s still holding it—a squeeze. “ _ Galo Fotia _ , you don’t think it’s good?” 

Lio clears his throat. “I think we can do better for you than sharing mine. With that hair, it has to be Thymos.” 

“Thymos? As in, the planet?”

Lio nods. “Nearly everyone there has blue hair. Maybe that’s where you’re from originally.” 

“Oh…” It didn’t often occur to Galo that he could have come from  _ somewhere. _

“I’ll take you there, Galo Thymos,” Lio offers. “Provided we survive this.” 

“I’ll make  _ sure  _ we survive this,” says Galo, and then he leans in even further and gathers Lio into an impulsive hug. 

“Thanks for my name,” Galo says into Lio’s hair.

“Thank you for releasing me,” Lio answers, patting him on the back. 

Galo pulls back and picks his helmet up from the dash, fitting it over his head.

He seals the airlock shut behind him when he leaves, and heads for the hangar where the TIE fighters are docked. 

* * *

  
  


Five minutes later GL-0541 connects the comms of the ships they’ve commandeered, and opens a private line. 

“Ready when you are,” he greets. 

“Galo,” Lio acknowledges. “Let’s go.”

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for the galolio parallels zine! 
> 
> Thanks to houselesbian and Bo for being betas for this! <3


End file.
